


Go Fish

by tahirire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s04e10 Heaven and Hell, Gen, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-24
Updated: 2008-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire





	Go Fish

  
Go Fish   


  
Dean wakes suddenly, like he always does now, and that instant in between _asleep_ and _awake_ is the space between _hell_ and _home_ , and for the millionth time he claws out of the Pit, takes a deep and shaky breath, and thinks to himself, _this freaking sucks._

And as much as that’s always his first thought, his second thought, even though he’d never admit it, is _Sammy_. 

He can tell it’s still dark, he knows he hasn’t been asleep for long. Hearing Alastair’s voice again … well. That wasn’t exactly something he saw coming. He concentrates on stilling his trembling, smoothing out his breathing. He doesn’t want to wake Sam. 

With a rush of sudden clarity, he realizes that Sam’s not there. It’s his inner sense that tells him; that radar screen that only registers _Sam_ , _danger to Sam,_ and _incoming bad moods of Sam,_ yes in that order, and right now it’s screaming at him that Sam’s _gone_. 

There’s a rustle of breath in the corner near the door, too slight to be Sam, too loud to be Castiel, and Dean’s eyes snap open even as his hand goes for the Colt .45 tucked underneath his bed sheets. 

“Please don’t.” The intruder’s voice is only half-joking. “I’ve been through enough abuse for one day, and I really don’t want to lose another shirt.”

Before she’s even done talking Dean is already dropping his guard, and he makes a mental note to kick his own ass for that. 

Later.

“Where’s Sam?” His eyes adjust to the darkness slowly. The faint streams of neon coming in from the parking lot cast blue shadows against her silky hair, and he stifles a laugh as he takes in the whole picture of her. 

“Not funny,” she admonishes, holding out a scolding finger. She’s relaxing in a chair Sam must have left for her by the door, and she tosses the salt line in between her and rest of the room a disparaging glance. 

Dean sits up slow, rolling some of the stiffness out of his shoulders. He hides a second smile. Apparently, for all his trust, Sam still has some common sense. _That’s my boy_. His smile fades at the ache in his chest. Suddenly, he really just wishes Sam was around. 

Ruby’s face is somber in the low light. He can barely make out her eyes, but he thinks they might look sad. “Sam’s OK. He needed … some time. To think. He asked me to watch out for you a while.” 

Dean’s urge to shoot back a sarcastic remark ( _What is this, ‘Adventures in Babysitting’?_ ) is shot down by the tone of her voice. He clears his throat, fighting rising apprehension. “To think?” He tries to sound casual and winces at how miserably he’s failing. 

Ruby leans forward in her chair, bending carefully to place her elbows on her knees, and puts her chin in her hands. “He’s just gotta blow off some steam. He’ll be back soon.” 

He doesn’t miss the fact that she’s evading a direct answer to his question, but he thinks he knows anyway. Guilt and shame settle heavy in his stomach, and that ache in his chest from before turns into a constricting band. If situations were reversed, he’d need to blow off steam, too. Which means getting drunk and having hot, anonymous sex in Dean’s world, or maybe starting a bar fight, but for Sam … 

“You let him just go off alone?” He growls, surprised at the edge in his voice and regretting it at once. Ruby’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t take the bait. 

“I’m an obedient little bitch, remember? He’s the boss.” There’s no anger in her voice, instead it’s almost teasing, and he finds himself loosening the grip he didn’t know he had on the bed sheets. 

Suddenly Dean realizes that he’s not sure if Ruby knows everything that Sam told him. Then he realizes that he doesn’t know what Sam told _Ruby_. His palms break into a sweat immediately. He doesn’t want anyone else to know. He can’t _handle_ anyone else knowing. The memory of Anna’s gentle prompting, her insistence that he wasn’t alone, fills his mind. Those words were a trigger, designed to make him think of Sam and no one else. It’s humiliating enough that Uriel knows. ( _That prick._ ) It’s frustrating enough that Castiel knows but won’t admit saving him was a mistake … but Ruby? _No thanks_. 

“He didn’t tell me anything, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Ruby’s voice cuts through the static in his mind like a knife. Which is the first object he thinks of when he hears it, and it sends a shudder down his spine intense enough to register on the Richter scale. 

He nods absently and turns his face away, studying the far wall intently. He could try to sleep again, but his nightmare is too close, too real. He can still hear them screaming. He clenches his fists angrily. No way is he going to let a demon see him lose it. 

For a long moment they are both silent. Dean is just starting to feel awkward when Ruby shifts in her seat and whispers, “But he … you told him.” Dean’s head whips around in surprise to see that Ruby is practically facing the door now, expression hidden carefully behind the dark veil of her hair. Her legs are drawn into the chair and one arm wraps around them while the other presses carefully to her abdomen.

He can hear the wince in her voice, but more than that, she just sounds so damn _sad_. “About Hell, I mean.” She continues, and Dean finds himself leaning forward just to hear. “I could see it in his eyes.” Her last admission seems private, like now Dean is the one that’s intruding. __

_You want to hear about the corners of Hell I’ve seen, Sam?_

 _No, I don’t._   


_And the things I had to do to convince her I was sorry?_   


Dean realizes he’s staring, but his brain is working too fast for him to direct any energy towards looking somewhere else. __

_Where I was? Even for Hell it was nasty. I guess I really pissed Lilith off._   


Shit. 

Dean’s world view is shifting drastically and he’s powerless to stop it. Before he can tell himself all about how he doesn’t care, he hears himself ask, “Hey … you, uh. You feelin’ alright?” 

She gives him a look like she can’t tell if she wants to laugh or start a fight. When he gets no response, he tries for a second time.

“Your, uh … “ he waves a hand in her general direction, “with … A.. Alastair, I mean.” He hates the way he chokes on the name; he prays that she’ll pretend she didn’t notice.

“Oh.” She mutters lamely, unconsciously holding her side closer and giving a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s OK.” Her eyes go distant, and he knows that look. He sees it every day in the mirror. “It could have been a lot worse.” 

Something inside Dean releases. He swings out of bed and pulls on his jeans. Ignoring the curious stare Ruby is giving him, he reaches under his pillow and grabs his silver flask. She shrinks back a little as he heads her direction, and he chuckles at the look on her face when he holds the flask out, offering. “Whiskey,” he clarifies. 

In the dark it’s hard to tell for sure, but he thinks he may have seen her blush. She takes it without a word, slamming back a shot with no hesitation. Dean grins. Looks like he’s not the only one that needs an ass-kicking for letting down his guard. Oh well. Later. 

He toes the line of salt until it breaks. Her eyebrows raise, questioning. He shrugs. “Sammy didn’t want me to be alone, so stay if you want.” He pauses, looking her right in the eyes. He wonders if she knows what he really means when he states, “You know how he gets when he doesn’t get his way. “ He tosses her a knowing look, she tosses him an eye roll, and that’s that. 

It’s an open invitation for company, and it’s too late to take it back now. Dean goes back to sit on his bed and leaves it up to her. He struggles to find a definition for the feeling he has when he looks at her now compared to a few short days ago. There’s gratitude there, for Sam. But he said his thank-you, and he’s not going to forget, but he’s not dwelling on it, either. There’s something else there now. It comes from knowing that she understands exactly what he went through without ever hearing it described. It’s like living through a war and thinking he was the only survivor, only to find out he was wrong. 

He smiles just a little even as inwardly, he groans. _Great, Winchester. Fantastic. Your dad would kick your ass._

He thinks the feeling might be respect.

~*~

It’s nearly three A.M. when Sam turns and heads back to the motel. He shoves his hands deep inside his jacket pockets, idly wishing he had thought to grab some gloves. His breath creates short puffs of mist in the frigid air. 

The tears ran out hours ago, but it still _hurts_ , and even though he’s pretty sure that will never change, knowing it doesn’t make it any easier.

After the tears came the rage, and with it the dark whispers. Sam knows the darkness well. He’s been so close to it, closer than even Dean can guess, and it can be intoxicating. But he’s never once regretted locking it away, not for a moment. 

Until today. 

Anna’s power-up bought them some time, but Sam can’t be positive Alastair is gone for good. He _can_ be positive that if the demon is still out there, he will come again for them. For _Dean_. 

His numb fingers grip the insides of his jacket pockets, and his trembling has nothing to do with the cold. He can feel the hollow place inside of him where the power lives. He knows from experience that it’s where the darkness rushes from with every use; he learned a long time ago that if he pauses to resist, people die. 

He knows he’s already made his choice this time, and he can’t be sorry. Not when he can be the one to kill that son of a bitch. 

If only killing Alastair would be enough, he thought bitterly. It would help, but it wasn’t going to wash Dean free from the grip of Hell.

Sam laughs out loud, a shattered, broken sound. So many innocent lives; so much blood on his hands. If he’d just known. If he could just go back to Cold Oak and kill the _one time_ it really counted; Dean would have been spared from all of this. 

The whole world would have been spared. 

He walks around the corner lost in thought. He wishes he knew what to say, but he doesn’t _understand_. He can imagine, but even with all the horror he’s seen, _everything_ pales in comparison to Hell. He can’t fix it, he can’t make it go away, and he doesn’t know how to help. He wishes Dean could have someone better than him.

Sam reaches the door to their room without any recollection of how he got there. He frowns in concern at the light streaming from behind the gaudy curtains, and he fumbles with the key for a second before getting the door unlocked. 

He freezes in the doorway, fully aware of the shocked look on his face but not caring enough to hide it.

Dean smiles easily from behind his hand of cards and waves, beckoning. “C’mon, Sammy. Have a beer. We got … three turns left this round.”

Sam stumbles forward out of the cold and into the relative warmth pumping from the motel’s ancient space heater. He shuts the door behind him and pulls up a chair to the edge of Dean’s bed, where his brother sits cross-legged about three feet from a full-blood demon, nothing but a pile of cards and empty bottles between them. Ruby shoots Sam a tentative smile before returning to the very serious task of watching Dean rearrange his hand. 

Sam feels like he’s in the wrong room. He reaches for the bedside table, snags a beer and opens it gratefully. Maybe getting drunk will make this less weird. “So you’re uh … playin’ poker, or …” he ventures, tripping all over the place. 

He wants to know if Dean’s OK, why he’s still awake, what happened while he was gone, if he had a nightmare; he wants to say he’s sorry for leaving, but none of those things seem right to bring up right now.

Dean’s grin goes just a little bit nasty. “Don’t worry, Sammy. S’regular card game. Not strip or nothin’.” Green eyes gleam wickedly up at Sam, and Sam feels a slow flush creeping into his cheeks.

Ruby chokes a little on her beer. For one horrifying instant Sam is sure that this will all end in tears. But Ruby laughs, smacks Dean on the knee, peers intently at the backs of his cards, and asks, “You got any fours?” 

Sam blinks. This cannot be real. 

“ _Dammit.”_ Dean hisses, handing the lost card over. Sam continues to watch in awe as Ruby quickly finishes the game, claiming not only the fours, but the queens and the eights as well. “You cheat. Demon. Cheatin’ demon,” Dean intones, sounding suspiciously like he’s trying to hold back a serious case of the giggles. 

Ruby smiles, gathers the cards into a pile and stands, placing her hands on her hips in a familiar gesture from the old days. “Alright boys. It’s way past curfew.” Dean nods absently, leaning back into his pillows with a soft moan. His eyes slowly slip shut and he grins. 

Ruby catches Sam’s gaze briefly and heads to the door. He knows that look and he follows. They stop on the threshold, voices lowered to whispers.

“What took you so long?” She demands.

Sam ignores her. “Is he _drunk_?” 

Ruby rolls her eyes. “He thinks he is,” she smirks, flashing a bottle of pills from the pocket of her black leather jacket. “I just gave him one, OK? Don’t look at me like that.”

Sam could be angry, but really he just feels relief. He sneaks another look at Dean, takes in the outline of his body against the sheets, notices how every muscle looks relaxed. Dean may kill them both tomorrow, but for tonight, it’s worth it. He shrugs. “It’s your funeral, I guess.” 

Ruby smiles, but it looks small. Her eyes turn serious as they search his, not quite liking what she sees there, but realizing it’s for the best. For all of them. “You chose,” she says. It’s a statement, not a question. He nods slowly. “Call me when you’re ready.” She steps out into the night, already blending into the dark of the parking lot.

“Ruby?” She pauses, glances over her shoulder. He sighs. “Thanks.” 

“See you around, Sam.” She replies, and then she’s gone. 

Sam shuts the door and moves to Dean’s bed, carefully extracting bottles from around his brother’s legs before pulling the comforter up to Dean’s chin. Dean stirs, mumbling. “Where’d you go, before?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam shushes, turning off the light and climbing into his own bed. He whispers as he kicks off his jeans. “Hey … Dean?”

“Mmm?” Dean hums, quickly going under. 

“Why’d you let Ruby stay tonight?”

Sam waits long enough that he thinks Dean has fallen asleep before he hears the solemn, quiet answer.

“She was in m’foxhole, y’know?” 

Sam’s eyes burn at the sudden memory. He can’t believe he didn’t think of it before. __

_You want to hear about the corners of Hell I’ve seen, Sam?_   


_No, I don’t._   


_And the things I had to do to convince her I was sorry?_   


“Yeah, Dean. I think I do know.” 

Dean’s steady, even breathing and the rush of the heater make up the only sounds in the room. Sam feels a sudden rush of gratitude. He settles into his blankets much less weary than before.

Inside, the darkness waits for another day. 

 


End file.
